“Suspicious activity at the main gate,” one of the guards dispatched. “Probably tear gas by an intruder. Need backup.”
The rest of the guards stood paralyzed inside the big circle of gasses, and waited until it began clearing away. The girls never stopped laughing and cheering for a moment. A few of the guards began coughing though. The first thing the guards saw when the gases subsided was a girl's leg stepping out of the limousine. They were slender legs with a tattoo of a caterpillar on them. For guards who’d been handling insane people all their lives, drooling was the least they could do.
Girl after girl got out of the limousine. They wore the tightest outfits, the longest boots, and the shortest skirts. They were either coughing, or giggling. Some of them did both. Most of them were so happy; the guards in the back couldn’t help but giggle back. Some of the girls smoked rolled cigars, smiling with kaleidoscope eyes.
It was like a prelude to madness, where the highly respected gangster was about to show up last.
Finally, a short leg showed from the car, followed by the egg-shaped head of a man with a pipe tucked between his full lips. The man's fedora slipped over his eyes as he got out with a hookah in his hand. When he coughed, he vanished like a magician behind spirals of thick smoke. When the smoke cleared, the guard saw he wore a tuxedo with light cream horizontal stripes. His hands were covered in white gloves. His fedora had two spikes that were shaped like mushrooms. Although a bit funny looking from afar, the man had an eerie presence that filled the heart with worry and anxiety. The guards straightened up and aimed at him. They knew the man. It was Pillar the Killer.
Nudging his hat up, the Pillar looked at them with beady eyes. He looked easily content with himself, tremendously annoyed by the presence of others.
“T-turn around. Hands on y-y-your h-head!” one of guards demanded, his anxiety showing in his scattered syllables.
The Pillar, with a hookah in one hand and a pipe in his mouth, looked puzzled. It seemed as if he didn’t know what to do with them while surrendering to the asylum’s guards. It looked as if someone had awakened him from a drowsy tangerine dream.
“I said turn around. Hands on your head, Professor Pillar,” the guard repeated. "You're a fugitive of the Radcliffe Asylum. If you don’t comply, I will shoot." It didn’t look like the guard was going to shoot. He was bluffing, and scared of the Pillar.
“I was out shopping,” the Pillar said. “Needed a purge valve for my hooka-a-a-ah," smoke spiraled from his mouth, hitting the guard in the face. The guard sank to his knees from the power of the smoke and Pillar lowered his head, squinting behind the smoke. "May I ask: hoo are yooh?"
Chapter 6
Director’s Office, the Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum, Oxford
To meet with the Pillar, Dr. Truckle prepared himself by swallowing two pills at once. His meeting with Professor Carter Pillar wasn’t going to be easy. There was a reason behind the Pillar’s repetitive escapes. It killed him not knowing it. Pillar the Killer was definitely going to bargain for something. Dr. Truckle had to find a way to compromise with him.
Under no circumstances could the doctor lose his job. It was all he had. After a money-draining divorce, ten years of serving at the asylum and all the secrets the government had buried with him here, he could just not afford it. His kids had just been admitted to Oxford University, and his responsibilities had just doubled. He also had his eyes on the young nurse on the secret ward that hosted prestigious people from the Parliament. Insanity was a disease that spread to all classes and factions.
If the Interpol and FBI had just succeeded in convicting this lunatic Professor Pillar, Dr. Truckle wouldn’t have been stuck in this position now. But like always, the small fish had to clean up the big fish’s poop.
Giving time for the pills to take effect, he changed the channel on his big screen TV. The news had nothing to talk about but the Cheshire Cat killer. The madman who leaves his victims dead and grinning.
“Boy,” Dr. Truckle told himself. “That little Alice in Wonderland book drove the world insane. It’s just a children’s book, people.”
The news showed recent footage of the Cheshire Cat sending a message to the world. It was a head shot, and he wore an orange mask of a grinning cat. It very much reminded Dr. Truckle of his childhood puppy named Garfield—which he loved to snuggle with and nibble at like a mouse. The Cheshire Cat’s voice in the footage was distorted, but the words were clear: